This is kinda odd … it was meant to be Sam-centric, but it didn't end up that way, and I know it's not that articulate, but I was trying to capture Dean's thought processes (which was probably a waste of time because they're more likely to just be: sam-sam-pie-sam-sam-cas-sam-sam-beer-sam, but whatever…) disclaimer: I don't own. Oh, and it's wincest :D
Sam knows that Dean hates it when he holds his hand in public, or pecks him on the cheek when he knows somebody is watching, or just generally stands far too close to him for their relationship to be purely fraternal.
But in private, Dean simply can't get close enough to Sam. As soon as the motel door shuts, he is practically leaping on Sam, tearing at the too-many clothes which separate them. And, finally, when they are skin-on-skin, only then is he happy. Not as happy as he could be – no, he needs to be one with Sammy for that – but he's happy enough.
What he really wants is for there to be no distance between them at all. He can achieve that, though, because their bodies fit together so perfectly that you would've thought that they were made for each other. Well, they were, weren't they? Sam and Dean Winchester: soul mates in the truest sense of the word.
Anyway, he presses his body up close to Sam's, so that there's nothing between them but a slick layer of sweat and unspoken fears. It's not enough though.
Even when he's inside him, it doesn't feel like enough. He wants more. He wants … he's not really sure, to be honest, but he thinks about it. He tries to articulate it to himself. Of course he enjoys their rough-and-tumble, hot-and-sweaty, seven-times-a-night fucks – they're nine kinds of wonderful and counting (Dean can't believe that he just used the word 'wonderful', and he considers the fact that Sam's gayness must be rubbing off on him, and he shudders), but they just seem sorta … shallow.
Not that Dean minds – he's a shallow kinda guy after all – but with Sam he wants to … be inside him. But not like that (although he enjoys that too). He wants there to be no skin separating them, no flesh to keep them apart. But then, if he thinks about it, they would just be a messy pile of blood-and-bones-and-vital-organs slowly leaking into the sheets. At least they'd be together, he thinks, at least they would be one.
Actually, he's not all that bothered about the gory stuff, he decides, and what he could really do with right now is a rough-and-tumble, hot-and-sweaty, seven-times-a-night fuck. And he really hopes that Sam will get a move on with the food. And he'd better not have forgotten the pie.
Thoughts? Honest ones please, because I'm not sure about this one…
xx